The Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg Job
by Valawenel
Summary: Boston, near the end of Season 4 – cca two months after The Season Six Job ( TTML Series), and between The Gold Job and The Radio Job ( Leverage Season 4) The Team has a new client, and they have just one day to see if they will take the job or not. Yet, even the simple recons aren't always as simple as they seem. This story is Reverse BigBang Challenge on Live Journal, prompt.
1. Chapter 1

**The Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg Job**

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**Chapter 1**

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"Chargoggaaaaa-"

"Parker, stop."

"Goggmanchau-"

"Parker, _stop_!"

"…bunagung?"

"_Parker_!"

Nate tried to ignore two whispering voices in his ear. It wasn't working. He tapped with his fingers on a dark green poker table, keeping a frozen smile on his face. He couldn't silence Parker and Eliot, so their infinite argument went on and on.

He slowly showed his cards, looked at all five men that sat around the table, and picked up all the chips from the middle of it.

He was winning. No wonder, when his opponents, all professional gamblers, tried to read his face. They didn't know that his reactions were caused by four voices in his earbud – four distressed, pissed off individuals who were driving him nuts. It was easy to grit his teeth, listening to Sophie whining to Hardison, while at the same time watching extremely good cards in his hand. His opponents must've thought he was a world best bluffer.

He was raging inside.

"Ggagogg, hah, that part is funny-"

"Parker, I swear, if you do that one more time-"

"Relax, Sparky, this is _fun_!"

"Stop talking. Just stop talking."

"Gungamaugg-"

"Jesus."

Nate closed his eyes, covering that with the rubbing of his forehead, and sighed. At this point, he didn't care if the five men came to some conclusion based on his sighing.

Sophie's soft chuckle, this time, didn't lower his blood pressure. "-not to mention all the little pearls and beads and feathers in my hair; it's a shame your hair isn't long enough to try it. I wonder if Eliot will agree to go with his hair fully braided, if we have to go to the tribal meeting tomorrow."

"He seemed to like the extensions you put in his hair this morning for a practic-"

And Hardison's reply was cut off, for the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. Nate could hear both pairs only for a few seconds, sometimes even more, but most of the time it was just a static in his ear.

Parker and Eliot were together on the one side of the island, while Sophie and Hardison were on the shore of the lake. Hardison couldn't break the protection that Adrian Martin – somehow - put on the phones, jamming all signals. The earbuds were at least working, but only partially, from time to time. There was no communication between the two pairs - Eliot and Parker had no idea what Sophie and Hardison were doing, and vice versa.

He knew everything, and they could hear him, all of them… but he couldn't speak freely.

Somehow, he felt this night would be a night to remember.

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**Twelve hours ago**

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When Nate and Eliot returned from a client meeting, Sophie still had two cucumber slices put over her eyes. They'd finished The Nail Polish Job just yesterday, and her eyes hadn't had time to recover from the pepper spray yet. Usually Nate wouldn't take another client so fast, but it seemed urgent.

And it was.

Chief Keith Vickers of the Sutton-based Hassanamisco band of the Nipmuc Nation tribe wasn't dressed in leather and feathers; he wore a classy gray suit and tiny glasses, but his story was well-known. A struggle for justice, recognition, and the rights of a small people. He needed their help, and he needed it fast. They had just three days to see why, exactly, the claim of recognition of his tribe was rejected. Just three days to do something before the appeal, which he said would be denied for sure.

Nobody else could help them, and that was a problem.

Nate knew that only after the initial investigation would he be able to tell the Chief if they would try to help him, so he decided to take one day, just one day, to see what could be done. He sent all the info to Hardison while they spoke with the client, knowing he would have something about Adrian Martin, their mark, by the time they got back to the office.

Martin was a deputy assistant secretary of the US Bureau of Indian Affairs, and, based on the info the Chief provided, his doings were crucial to the denial of their claim. And if their claim was denied, every chance of opening a casino and providing a better life for the tribe would be gone.

They had to find out why. Today.

"Read it out loud, Hardison. I'm not removing these just to squint at your screens," Sophie said when Hardison pulled up all that he managed to collect.

"Okay, the most important facts first." Hardison clicked the remote and put Adrian Martin on all screens. Mid forties, plump, brown-haired, average man. "No criminal records, respected in his line of work, and rich. He owns a marina on the Chargoggagoggman…" he took a breath mid-word, "…chauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg Lake."

Sophie peeked out from under the cucumber slices, rolled her eyes, and put them back.

"Also known as Webster Lake," he continued. "The name of the lake is American Indian, in case you couldn't guess. It is said to mean 'You fish on your side, I fish on my side, and nobody fish in the middle'. The Town of Webster, Worcester County, our neighborhood of interest, has essentially that Lake and the Indian reservation, and that pretty much sums up all of it. Martin, however, has a few weaknesses. The first one – his love for expensive boats. The second one, he is an avid poker player. He even attended several tournaments. Not in the top twenty, but well known among the players. He organizes private games, closed, only the best players are invited, but I have yet to find out more about it. I'll have something in an hour or two."

"Don't forget we have only three days to deal with him," Nate said. "And three days isn't usually enough for even basic info."

"Well, we'll spend them collecting that basic info, starting with today," Eliot said, his first words since they got back to the office. Nate observed him; the hitter usually had numerous objections when he saw they were going unprepared, or when they rushed into jobs, but this time he just sat silently.

"What's the difference?" he asked him directly. Eliot knew what he was really asking.

"The unemployment rate in the US is about eight percent. The Native American unemployment rate is about fifteen percent," Eliot said not looking at him, watching the picture of Adrian Martin. "That tribe is small, not more than a few hundred people. One casino can save them all."

"And you might get a chance to braid your hair and do tribal dances dressed only in a leather skirt," Parker said evenly. The hitter twitched, turning to her with disbelief in his eyes.

"What?" she frowned. "If they have a tribe meetings, they probably dance."

"That is so…." Hardison sighed. "… politically incorrect."

Eliot was still glaring at Parker; she returned a bland stare.

"Concentrate." Hardison pulled up one document. "This is an article that sums up the situation, but I ain't gonna read it. That's stupid."

"C'mon, Hardison, grift yourself into it, we don't have much time." Nate took his remote and zoomed the letter. "Go."

Hardison shot him one pained glance and took a deep breath. "Leaders of the state's largest group of Nipmuc Indians said yesterday the US Bureau of Indian Affairs acted unfairly and was carrying out 'an anti-casino agenda' when it denied the group federal recognition as a tribe. The group, which wants to build a casino in Webster, Massachusetts, announced its appeal of the bureau's decision and blasted the federal government during a news conference at the State House. ''I stand before you defeated by the United States government,' said Chief Keith Vickers of the Sutton-based Hassanamisco band of the Nipmuc Nation." Hardison stopped when Parker huffed and waved. "What?"

"You don't sound like a Chief. Do voices."

"What?! Nate…"

"Go on, just go on."

"Nipmuc Nation councilor Don Hamilton called the decision 'downright disgraceful'. 'It was as if they didn't even read our petition,' said Hamilton. 'This determination was made with an anti-casino agenda. They didn't just deny us. They beat us up. They humiliated us.'"

Parker giggled, Eliot slowly exhaled one long breath, probably counting to ten, or a thousand, and Sophie removed the cucumbers, so as not to miss Hardison's expression.

"A spokeswoman for the Bureau of Indian Affairs did not immediately respond to the group's remarks yesterday. But according to the Associated Press, Adrian Martin, the agency's deputy assistant secretary for Indian Affairs, said he knew of no instance in which the internal appeals board overturned a negative finding. The Nipmuc Nation and a Dudley-based group calling itself the Nipmuck Council of Chaubunagungamaug have been attempting to gain federal recognition for nearly twenty-five years. Last week, the federal bureau's decisions stated that neither group could prove it had been active politically and socially as a tribe since historic times, as required under the federal recognition standards."

Hardison sighed, taking a break. Parker beamed at him and Nate saw the instantaneous impact – the hacker sighed again, took a sip of his soda, and continued.

"Officials at the Chaubunagungamaug group's headquarters could not be reached for comment yesterday, but have said recently that they were also considering an appeal. Unlike the Chaubunagungamaug group, the Nipmuc Nation has made no secret of its desire to build a casino on land owned by the Nipmuc in Worcester County or across the border in Connecticut. One of the islands on Webster Lake was their main target. Frank Conrad, a longtime adviser to the Nipmucs in their quest to build a casino, said he believed the decision was fueled by politicians opposed to casinos, including several lawmakers from Connecticut who don't want other tribes to share in the riches enjoyed by the two Connecticut tribes who already run casinos. Chris Sullivan, a lawyer for the Nipmuc Nation, said the group would file its appeal with the Interior Board of Indian Appeals by mid-September, within the two-weeks window for challenging the Indian Affairs Bureau's decisions. Because the internal appeals board has never ruled against the agency, Nipmuc officials predicted that the case will eventually end up in US District Court." Hardison finished. "That's it."

"Adorable," Sophie said gently.

Nate studied the documents and pictures on the screen, and they all waited. "That two week window ends in three days. I wish they'd found us earlier."

"I haven't finished." Hardison snatched back the remote from him. "There's one more thing. Martin owns a marina on the Chagogg… on Webster Lake. If the Nipmuc built a casino on the island, that would only help his business. You need a boat to get to the island, right? No point in rejecting their claim. But…" Hardison clicked the remote, showing a Google maps image of the huge, colonial style villa. "I found something. I don't think anybody made the connection. The only house on that island is property of Justine O'Neill, Webster's well-known pediatrician. Her maiden name is Martin."

"A sister?"

"Yep."

"Okay. Let's go steal ourselves an Indian tribe. Tonight."

It seemed so clear – a simple conflict of interest. Martin's family had a house on the island where the tribe wanted their casino. It was a small island, and his comfort would be destroyed… yet, it seemed _too_ simple.

Recon was the only way to find out more, right?

And nothing could go wrong.

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**Half an hour ago**

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"I still think I should go and play poker with those guys, Nate," Hardison said for the hundredth time since they'd left Boston, shuffling with two decks in one hand. "I need to practice."

"And I should go and hack Adrian Martin's computer while you play?"

"No, just… we could rearrange tonight's actions so I can do both things."

Nate said nothing, wondering if the hacker's remark was just expressing the worry that had gnawed at him since this started.

They were all sitting in Lucille, parked as near to the lake as they could get unnoticed. They'd arrived too early. The night was cold, and eerie fog was all around the lake. The fog would help them; moonlight, high above them, added a silvery glance, and more than that, added to the strange atmosphere.

Eliot was using night vision binoculars from the front seat. "Three players have arrived," he reported, going to the back to them. "Ten minutes, Nate, and you can leave."

Hardison managed to throw him into tonight's play; every two weeks, Martin organized a very secret and very professional poker game. The stakes were high, and there was a list of pros signed up one year in advance. Hardison had spent the better part of the day negotiating, threatening, rearranging and messing with their schedules, but he finally did it. It was important that they started tonight – waiting two weeks for the next chance was out of the question.

This was supposed to be just a usual recon before Nate even started thinking about the plan. Simple data collecting. And he didn't like it. They had been rushed into this and were unprepared.

They all shared that feeling, he knew it.

They had two main targets tonight, both on the lake. Martin's family owned two large facilities. One marina, just two minutes from their hiding place, with four guards who were securing the object and patrolled around the boats, and a small hotel in the complex, which was Nate's target. The poker game was in luxury salon on the first floor. He would keep Martin and his players occupied, take his pulse.

Sophie, as an exotic dancer who was sent as a surprise - or a prank - for the guards, would make a diversion for Hardison to pass by them. The offices with computers were behind the guard's main room, in one long, tall, one-story barrack near the docks.

Eliot and Parker had a different task: they had to search Martin's villa on one of the four islands on the lake - the same island where the Nipmuc tribe planned to build their casino. That wasn't a coincidence, and Nate knew that was a big and important part in Martin's decision to reject their claim – but there was something more than that. And the fact he didn't know what, yet, was making his stomach churn.

Something was definitely wrong with this night.

Hardison wasn't able to find anything useful about that mansion on the island. Almost a hundred years old, so no blueprints. There was a rumor of some major construction work, but every single trace ended in small local craftsmen, again with no data he could find or hack. They didn't have enough time to go from door to door and talk with locals, to see who had done what and why. Eliot and Parker were going blindly, to find out what the hell was there. That was a main reason for this split up – Eliot would usually take the part with four guards, but not now. The two of them were a better choice for the unknown.

Traffic cameras in Webster were scarce, and only one camera was at the main gate of the marina. That one proved to be the most useful, and Hardison worked on it for the last four hours, going through the last week's recordings. The results weren't good. There was a significant increase in traffic in the late evening. The cars were entering through marina gate and were left on the parking lot, passengers going to the boats. The camera covered only one small piece of the dock and open water, so they could see only about twenty percent of the boats. During the day, boats went all around the lake. In the evening, they were mainly going to the island, returning at different times during the night and next morning.

They had about half an hour before the first visitors started gathering on the island.

Parker and Eliot both wore black clothes. Eliot had already found them a small boat, hidden from sight at the end of the dock. Paddling to the island would take ten minutes, no more, but they had to be silent and invisible. The fog would hide them, make it easier.

"Adjust your watches," Nate said when the huge windows on the hotel's first floor flashed with light. "The game starts in six minutes. Hardison, how long it will take to find something useful in the offices?"

"Can't tell. Two minutes to enter, two minutes to start the systems, an unknown number of minutes to pass any possible protection, though I don't think it would be anything serious – and a couple of minutes more while I copy everything. Sophie, you'll be able to keep them occupied that long?"

Sophie just blinked once, lazy. She was in black, too, but in layers and layers of veils and scarves, with her hair in a wild mess. When she moved, veils danced around her. Oh yes, she would keep them occupied without any need to actually dance or perform anything.

"Last call, Nate." Hardison cut the deck, grinning. "I can go and play, and _then_ go with Sophie."

"Stop with that," Eliot said lowly. "This isn't a time for _practicing_ playing poker, Hardison. They're pros, and your tells are indescribable."

"What's the matter, scared of a little fog?"

"The fog is an ally, there's nothing to be scared… nope, you're the one who freaks out when outside." Eliot opened a side door, letting the colder air in. He turned again to Hardison, with an evil grin. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Eliot said nothing. In silence, they all heard crickets and frogs, their voices echoing dully through the fog.

"What's that?" Hardison frowned.

"Nature. You have to pass through it to reach the marina. Are you scared enough?"

"Scared I ain't – I'm cautious. I am-"

All four of them twitched at the same time, reaching to their ears. Nate hadn't put in his earbud yet, so he heard nothing, but he knew that grimace – a burst of static, or worse, the screeching of a dying earbud.

"Fuck!" Hardison quickly turned around to his comm feed on the side table. "The game is starting, and they're jamming the signal – probably usual measures while playing to keep players safe. No one can listen. Not even the FBI surveillance van would break through this."

"Can you fix it?" Nate took his earbud out of his pocket, but Hardison stopped him when he tried to put it in his ear.

"Don't, wait. There's a slight chance yours can get through if you activate it when inside the protected zone." Hardison was quickly typing while speaking. "I'm boosting up everything I have – yours might work and ours – yep, here it is, I have it… I'm working on noise margins. Distortion and interference will stay. I can't predict what will happen, not unless I work on it for two hours. Which we don't have."

This was getting better and better. Nate sighed, watching their faces. Worried, yes, but not more than with any usual job faced with unexpected obstacles. Eliot was annoyed. Sophie radiated calm all over the place. Parker was checking her backpack, seemingly concentrated only on that. Hardison was too occupied to radiate anything but sharp concentration.

The fog was creeping around the windows, and Lucille felt surrounded.

He wasn't thinking about pulling the plug, at least not yet. The strange feeling wasn't enough for that decision, and all of them would probably look at him as if he had lost his mind if he suggested they all stay in the van while he finished the poker game. They had one day to collect as many useful things as they could, and two more days to play them out; not nearly enough time. This chance, if missed, would delay everything. Breaking in to find computers, and paddling to the island to investigate the mansion, both of those were easier to do in darkness that in a daylight.

"That's it." Hardison hit the last keys and turned in his chair. "Try to ignore noises. You have your phones, so this ain't critical. Nuisance, yes, but nothing more."

"Right." Eliot smirked. "We'll need silence on that island, Hardison, not thundering or shrieking in our ears."

"So take it out when you want to listen, duh." Hardison rolled his eyes. "You _are_ worried."

"Nope, I'm pissed off, and you ain't helpin.'"

"Nah, seriously, there's nothing to be worried about – not the first time we…" he took the deck of cards and spread it in front of the hitter. "Here, pick a card. For morale. I bet you'll draw a queen, whichever. Maybe the only person on that island is Martin's wife, pretty and lonely, who knows? Maybe even a redhead. God knows you need to get back to redheads."

Uh- oh, wrong distraction. Nate hid a smirk when Eliot's frown went into a scowl. He growled lowly and took one card from the deck.

"So?" Hardison raised his eyebrows. "Which one?"

Eliot said nothing for two seconds, watching a card, then a quick smile flew over his face. "Nope… if you want to know which one, you'll have to check the rest of the deck… and you don't have time for that."

A hand flashed past his shoulder; Parker snatched the card from his hand before he could turn around to stop her.

"Uh – oh," she turned the card to all of them to see. The Ace of Spades. Her eyes grew wide in the blue light from the monitors. "Eliot, this is a Death Card. You're so screwed."

Well, they didn't need _that_ shit on top of everything.

For a moment no one spoke, no one moved – Eliot just rolled his eyes at the thief.

Nate let the silence spread for a few more seconds, but right at the moment he prepared to speak, to hush them all out to do their jobs and forget the stupid cards, Sophie moved.

She took the card from Parker's hand and glanced at it, with a same lazy, comfortable smile.

Then she turned the card in her long fingers, reached and put it in _his_ pocket. "The Ace of Spades," she said quietly. "Atout Majeur, or the Main Advantage. The card of spiritual wisdom, and inspiration for others… when not indulged in bitter despair. The highest card in the deck."

She turned to the others - not looking at Eliot who still had the same smile on his face – but to Hardison and Parker. "Your deck just decided who will play the game, Hardison. Nothing more. Shall we go?"

"Yep, we're ready," Hardison said. His face was one nuance lighter than usual.

Eliot's grin became wolfish while watching him; the hitter clearly paid no attention to ominous signs, enjoying the hacker's discomfort.

"Be careful," Nate said when they all climbed out of Lucille, ready to spread in different directions. He immediately bit his tongue because of that slip – he rarely, very rarely warned them that way, not even when danger was more imminent.

They just nodded and disappeared in the fog.

He went to the main gate of marina, suddenly wishing that they'd all paid just a little more attention to this.

The fog was heavy, dark, and alive.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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Adrian Martin looked like a troubled, resigned accountant: mid-forties, gaining weight, drinking heavily and having stomach problems. His hands were nervous, he fidgeted with chips on the table, and Nate couldn't quite figure out why he put himself through the trouble of organizing an illegal high stakes poker games when he clearly took no pleasure in it.

The left side of his curly brown hair was ruffled; he constantly went through it with his hand.

The other four players weren't interesting. They were only here because of the game and the money, and though a blond nerdy guy, Colburn, had a hidden gun in a shoulder holster, they weren't connected with Martin's murky business.

They weren't chatting. After initial pleasantries the game started with full concentration, and that loosened Martin up a bit. A grimace on his plump face, which Nate automatically connected with an ulcer, disappeared, as if the game was a useful distraction.

_What's troubling you, Martin_?

Nate kept his responses strictly in terms of the game, not wanting the other members of the team to guess if his words were some message to them. When he needed to tell them something, he had to be sure they would recognize it. This wasn't a place for a con voice, not in front of poker players who were noticing the change in his breath, not to mention in his voice or face.

He won one round and put his cards down, showing them to the other players. Well, maybe it was time to show a little weirdness, to justify his eventual future confusing statements. He took a card and smiled at it. "Talk to me, Queen of Diamonds," he whispered at the card.

Martin shook his head and smiled.

Parker giggled in response. "Eliot is splashing water all over us, and he blames the paddles, not his style," she said in his ear. "We're about to land. He found one muddy spot under some bushes, nobody will see-" And she was lost, static covered her voice.

He took another card and tapped it with his fingers. "Queen of Hearts?"

"Why am I Queen of Hearts?" Sophie muttered. "I should be Queen of Spades – dark, dangerous, beautiful."

Nate looked at Martin and smiled, putting the card down. "Sorry about this," he said lightly. "But I like to connect with my cards – they're more willing to obey me when I talk to them."

"No problem, take your time, we all have some sort of preparations."

"But the Queen of Hearts is my favorite – I've won many games with her help. This is the Card of beauty, magnetism, affection and idealism. The woman the Queen of Hearts represents is the much-loved mother, the sweetheart, the indispensable sister. Do you know anything about Metasymbology, and cards connected with types of people? The Queen of Hearts' natives are talented in some artistic line, even if it's just in their appreciation of beauty or art. They are often intense and dramatic, and can be very domineering in the family. They are also capable of deep devotion and loyalty."

"Well, not bad," Sophie smiled. "If you're not making that up while you speak."

"I studied that matter a long time ago, when I played more often. These are well known facts, and true. Every card in poker deck can be connected with a Tarot card, too, and that gives a broader spectrum. Scary shit, most of the time."

"Interesting," Martin said but didn't continue; it was his turn to deal.

"So, Queen of Hearts, any good news for me?" Nate sighed looking at his cards. All players smiled at that rhetorical question.

"We are near the back wall of the barrack, I'll go in in a minute. Hardison will… Hardison?!" her voice lost her calm. "Hardison, is that an… an animal?!"

"Uhm, yep, it might be… this nature shit is awful. Looks small, so don't move, just, hey, hey, watch out- damn-"

"Ouch, ouch, ouch!" a splashy sound followed her voice.

"I said don't move. You scared it."

"Dang these heels." Her voice was pained now. "And mud, and nature… help me up and keep that beast at bay-"

"I think it was just a raccoon, so don't-"

And the line went dead. He could hear, for two seconds, Parker's low murmuring of r_ow, row, row your boat, gently down the stream_.

Nate sighed, blinked once, and smiled at his co-players, pushing the chips in the middle.

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This wasn't working. Sophie held her breath, trying - desperately trying - to make her step graceful and seductive, but her ankle sent up bolts of pain when she tried to step normally.

Hardison was busy with the windows on the back side of the barrack; she had to wait until he was ready to get inside, and then go to the front door and keep the guards in one room as long as she could. If she failed, and they scattered all over the marina, going to check the boats, it wouldn't be a disaster – it was important only to keep them from checking the rest of the barrack and give Hardison time to work on their computers.

They couldn't, not even from the bank of the lake, see Eliot and Parker; they were too far away, maybe even on the island already.

She could see the island as a big black mass. Yellow lights were twinkling through the trees and through the fog that crept over the surface of the water.

That fog must've been the reason for her unease – she couldn't remember any movie where fog wasn't an ominous sign, a cover for the enemies, monsters or ghosts. There wasn't any movie with fog announcing a gleeful wedding.

They didn't need The Ace of Spades now. Definitely not, no matter how quickly she had reacted and turned it into something less scary.

"Hurry up," she whispered to Hardison who tried not to clang against anything. She took one more step, hoping the pain would pass.

The fog crept nearer.

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"Stay there," Eliot whispered to Parker when he hid the small boat under the tree that spread its low branches to the water. Hardison's map of the island was basically just Google maps with a few more details, but he knew where they were. They needed to pass through the park and come at the mansion from the back.

The front side, with an enormous porch, was lit up as if some party was taking place.

He led the way, finding the clear path without mud and bushes, and through the scarce autumn leaves he could see the front yard. It looked empty, with no parked cars on the driveway made of yellow sand, but he knew that boats could take the place of cars in this scenario. The house could be full of people.

The tall windows were lit, ornaments surrounding them casting long shadows onto the walls made of dark, old stone.

Something darker than the night ran over their path – two raccoons, giggling quietly.

"Wait," Parker whispered behind him and he turned around. The thief pointed to one of the back buildings, similar to the barrack on the shore of the lake where the guards were stationed. "This looks like a power plant. We should check it. It'll tell us what sort of construction work they did."

"Okay, go."

He waited, his back resting on the wall, while Parker was busy with a lock. It took only fifteen seconds and she disappeared into the dark entrance. He checked the long room from the door – no lights, no people.

He returned to watch the mansion; the huge yard surrounding it was empty, and he was able to see anyone approaching in time.

Parker would need a few minutes to check everything, so he advanced, keeping himself in the shadows of the dark walls, invisible alongside the mansion. The front part spread into the two side wings, both of them two stories tall, and above them a high roof with many chimneys. Those chimneys must've been just for a decoration purposes at this point, because no smoke came out.

He circled around the corner and checked the front side once more, now so close that he could see all the details. Above the massive wooden door was an unusual neon sign. No words, no markings, just an image of something that looked like two hooks, or two spears, crossed on a shield.

"Nate?" he whispered, tapping his earbud. "I'm sending Hardison an image of some crest. Strange weapons. If he finds out what that might be, try to tell me, somehow."

"Yep, pour me another one… and you can keep them coming."

"More pictures? Okay, I'll take a few shots of the building and surroundings. Parker, are you done?"

"Going out, come back."

He returned to the barrack, sending shots of the mansion from a few different angles.

"I was right," the thief whispered when she joined him. They both leaned on the wall with their backs, melting into the dark. "I'll have enough ventilation shafts to enter. They make an entire labyrinth through the house. Old building, high ceilings, stone walls – they couldn't drill through the walls because of the static, so they masked them as wooden beams on the ceilings, with ornaments. I found plans."

He glanced at her, noticing the excitement in her voice. Only she would be so thrilled with the prospect of crawling through the dusty pipes, when she could otherwise enter normally and go from room to the room with a simple door opening.

"I can't follow you through that, and I don't want to split up."

Now was her turn to glance at him. "Why not? This is someone's _home_. Not cartels or gangs or mobsters. No monsters chained in the basement. Martin's sister is a pedi-a-trici-an," she carefully enunciated the word. "That means she's a child doctor." She added as an afterthought.

"I know what ped- stop with- look at this," he pushed his phone under her nose, showing her a crest with hooks. "This isn't just a home, Parker. That's a neon sign. They've got something in here."

She looked at the pic and giggled. "Scary," she said. "Maybe they'll attack us with beanies."

"What?"

"These are crochet hooks, silly."

"What? How would you know-"

"One of my foster mothers was crazy about it, everything in the house was crocheted. She made me wear crocheted _skirts_. I ran away."

He sighed. "Okay, Nate, forget about the crest. Did you hear the part about crochet?"

"No, I'll pass this one," Nate's answer came clear, without static.

"Parker said those are crochet hooks. We're going in now."

Parker started, but he pulled her to stop. "Wait," he said, watching the building. "People who come here by boats, in the night, aren't here for crocheting, Parker. Don't take this lightly. I don't like this."

"You aren't scared of that card, are you?"

"I'm not _scared_. Period. I'm just sayin' you have to be careful and expect trouble."

She watched him for a few seconds. He couldn't interpret her expression. "Okay," she said finally. "Careful."

They went to the left wing to find a way in.

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"They're near the mansion. Eliot sent me pictures," Hardison reported when he returned a few steps to her, back in the shadows. "Are you ready? I have my window open, you can go and-"

Sophie bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Hardison," she said. "My ankle can't hold my weight. I'm afraid I sprained it."

"Let me see," he crouched and felt her leg. "Yep, already swollen. Not much, but better not risk it. Can you slowly go back to Lucille?"

"I'll try. What now? Abort everything?"

He thought for a moment. "I could wait here until they all go patrolling. I can't be sure that they'll will _all_ go, though, and that's a problem. And I don't know when it-"

"No, Martin," Nate said as reply to something they didn't hear. "I won't prolong this – my motto is: never put aside the things you can do now. That spares people lots of trouble."

"Yeah, Nate, I know we have a little time," Hardison said. "And I agree we should do it now, while we're here, and finish with this as soon as we can, but… wait a minute. Sophie, if you can limp to Lucille, can you limp to that office, if I get you through the window?"

Nate cleared his throat. "Hah, raising the stakes is an extremely bad idea now. You don't know what cards your opponent has."

"Shut up, Nate," Sophie said. "I cannot pretend to be a dancer while limping, but I can put an USB in a computer and copy documents. But what if it's protected? I'm not a hacker."

"And I'm not a grifter." Hardison's teeth shone on the moonlight. "But I can buy you ten minutes. Give me a few of your veils." He was taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his dark shirt while speaking. "I'll simply go to them and be aghast when I realize that somebody gave me a wrong address, that they ain't Charlotte's birthday party. I've never tried a male stripper before. I can buy you a diversion with nagging about paying, all expenses and tips, blaming them for a setup. Don't worry about me."

"I'm not worried. I know how annoying you can be when whining and arguing," she said sweetly and he flinched. "But you said nothing about protection. You won't be able to direct me while talking to the guards."

"This USB can override a few simple steps. It'll take a few minutes and you have nothing to do. If it's more complicated, well, nothing. We tried. This way we might save some time, and after that I can go with waiting for the guards to go away."

"C'mon, Colburn," Nate's voice was now friendly, colored with a smile. "I know you have to think, but we can't spend more than fifteen minutes on one hand."

"Okay, we'll hurry," Sophie sighed. "I'll hack, Hardison will grift… just great. Just what I needed tonight."

Hardison tied her veil around his bare waist, and huffed with indignation.

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Colburn, the blond nerd with the gun, seemed to be as friendly as Martin was reserved and cautious. Nate studied Martin's interaction with other players. One of them, the oldest, gray-haired Rollinson, was clearly a frequent player, yet Martin's replies were tight and short, even when they talked about a few funny moments from past games.

Nate watched his chips with a sorrowful expression. "My luck is fading," he murmured unhappily. "Maybe I shouldn't listen to the Queens. They're treacherous. Kings are solid and confident…it's time to hear what they have to say. The King of Clubs, for example."

"Who the hell is King of Clubs?" Hardison whispered. "Me or Eliot?"

"Why that one?" Colburn asked. "Why not King of Diamonds?"

"I like him more than Kind of Diamonds, don't know why. Maybe because King of Clubs people are wonderfully creative and very fast learners and they have keen intelligence and insight. The King of Clubs rarely lacks money, and they usually make it by being in business for themselves. In tarot, the King of Clubs has the meaning of good character and loyalty and the realization of ideals. The card is said to be one who has great power, but at the same time one who is not aware of this, and is outwardly cheerful but inwardly reserved. The King of clubs is said to have a natural affinity for the Queen of Diamonds."

"Okay, okay, okay, I got it," Hardison whispered. "But I have nothing to report now, and won't have for some time. I'm going in. By the way, you can't say anything about how Parker and Eliot are doing, right? Can you hear them at all, or are they-" Static again.

"You can call me crazy, but I really have a connection with all my cards," Nate gently tapped a deck on the table. "Not always, unfortunately, but enough for me. I trust them when they talk to me."

All five men around him solemnly nodded their understanding. Nate hoped that Hardison caught his words and that would ease his worries; it was important that the hacker didn't lose time thinking about everything that could go wrong on the island. He had enough of his own shit to do.

Nate tried not to think about Sophie, who was about to enter the office, unable to quickly retreat if necessary.

Rollinson used his info on the King of Clubs to start talking about his last pair of Kings in a game he played in Vegas.

Eliot and Parker were silent. Only static chirped in his ear, and his unease grew. But, they couldn't talk if they were sneaking around the mansion in the night, he reassured himself.

He lost three games in a row. His concentration was shattering.

"Getting tired?" Colburn asked him while cutting the deck. "Or you're pressing too hard on the bottle?" He motioned with his head to the bottle Nate held, preparing to pour another drink. "Not that I'm complaining, just go on," he added with a smile.

"My Queen of Diamonds is silent, and King of Clubs doesn't bring any money either," he sighed. "It's time to call the Wild card in the game. Wild card, Joker… a Fool in Tarot."

No reaction, just static. No growling or pissed off comments.

"They really have that type of a man in your metasi…"

"Metasymbology. Yes, they do. And don't be fooled by the name," Nate smiled. "This most compelling and ambiguous Card is known as the chameleon; their disguises are many and varied. They have an enormous amount of personal power at their disposal, but knowing how to apply it in life is quite another thing... The Joker also has a dark side. It is only through the practical application of their inherent powers that the Joker is able to rise above the dark side, with which they are equally familiar. All Jokers are wonderfully unique, a mysterious people who have the capacity for great wisdom. It is nearly impossible to analyze them as they hold the key to themselves and guard it well. In tarot, he is pictured as a man on the edge of a cliff - he is seemingly oblivious that he is walking toward a precipice, apparently about to step off. Another interpretation of the card is that of taking action where the circumstances are unknown, confronting one's fears and taking risks."

"You're _so_ making that up," a raspy voice echoed in the earbud finally, and he suppressed a relieved sigh. "We're in, we started a search from the left wing. Going slowly, but nothing suspicious for now, unless the amount of damn vents is susp-"

"Hah!" Martin said, leaning back in his chair. "Confronting one's fears… that sounds so easy." He pulled something from his pocket – a small box. He opened it and put a pill in his mouth, with a sip of whiskey. "Digestion problems," he explained when he saw Nate watching him. "Stressful job."

But his job wasn't stressful at all, unless his conflict of interest bothered him so much that he lost his sleep over it.

"Pressure, deadlines, or demanding coworkers?" Nate smiled. "Tell us more."

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"Seriously?! No way I'm going into that, that-"

Parker huffed with indignation. "That's the fastest way. Through that vent you can go from room to room in less than a minute, unnoticed, and not spend minutes and minutes at every door breaking in – or, should I say, waiting for me to open the door for you."

"I can pick simple locks, Parker." Eliot tried to keep annoyance out of his voice, but the results were miserable. He was pissed off because Parker was right this time.

"I know, but it takes time. And we have a lot of rooms to search."

And they were too slow, he knew that. They were in the dark hall at the end of the left wing, and he looked up, following false wooden beams with his eyes. They looked solid and big enough. The beam disappeared into the wall, continuing into the next room – the door beneath it, huge and wooden, would keep him at least five minutes. He couldn't just smash the doors as he went along. They needed silence.

"All right," he sighed. The openings were big enough even for him. The hatch was made of wood, too, but with usual holes, providing visibility. They could peek through it from above, scan every room without going out, and just continue to the next one. He _hated_ it. "Move now."

He picked her up until she reached the hatch and opened it, disappearing in the dark hole. He followed, using a cupboard to lift himself up and reach the entrance. He closed the hatch behind them, and put the small torch light in his mouth.

"What's th't sm'll?"

"Probably raccoon droppings." Parker wriggled through the vent before him.

He almost spat the lamp out. "Wh-?"

"That's good," she whispered. "If rats and raccoons are entering the vent, nobody will pay attention to your rustling and clanging."

"I'm not rustl-" She vanished, turning left. "Where the hell are you?"

"Going left. You go right, search that side. Meet you later somewhere."

Just great. He turned the lamp off and tried to place himself. He could see a few drops of light along the long, long vent… openings that were above lit rooms. That was what they were searching for – people, light, anything that could tell them what was going on in here.

He turned right and slowly, quietly, crawled through the dust and suspicious smelly things.

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The three computers in Martin's back offices were old and slow. That wasn't bad - it meant that they probably wouldn't have any sophisticated protection - but it also meant it would take more time to copy all files.

Sophie was working in the darkness; Hardison left her his torch light, but she had used it only in the first ten seconds.

"Say that again?!" Hardison's voice through the earbud sounded aghast. "Do you know that I spent two freaking hours trying to find this god-forsaken place! Do you know how much money I've already lost with this, and now you tell me there's not any Charlotte here!?"

"Tough shit, buddy." The guards didn't sound hostile or scary, thank god. "You sure you have your address right?"

"C'mon, guys, what am I supposed to do now?" She smiled when she heard the switch in his approach; he had noticed their normality immediately. His voice lost that accusing note, it softened. "Do you know any Charlotte living near? Maybe I have just a wrong house number, maybe she's somewhere nearby."

"We can go to the back room and try to google her name and address," one of them suggested, and she froze.

"Nah, no use, I did that before I started, nothing came up. That's why I was just relying on the things I wrote on paper. She called my agency yesterday morning and she was in a hurry."

She heard a thump, as he lowered himself onto a chair or a stool. "You're nice," he continued. "And trust me, I'd rather spend time with you – I see you're watching a game, lucky you – than dance in front of bunch of drunk, sweaty women. Man, how nasty they can be. Not too long ago I barely had time to run away with my underpants on. It was an _assault_."

She heard smirks and clanging of bottle and glass. "You mean, they're grabby, or…" one shy voice jumped in. "I always wondered how they behave when there's no men around."

"You wouldn't believe it." Hardison's voice fell to a confident whisper, and she could clearly picture him glancing around as if instinctively checking if somebody was listening to them, and four guards leaning closer to hear the hot details. "Just last month, I had one business party, in a fancy office building, and ten ladies in business suits, high heels, glasses, you know that bitchy look… and they started drinking, and in a less than half an hour, they first get rid of their jackets, then buttons went down, one by one…"

Sophie suppressed laughter; Hardison had them mesmerized, slowly explaining the hot details – she knew she had enough time for all three computers. The guards were glued in the room.

"Nate, ten minutes, maximum. I think I'll be able to get through that window by myself, if needed – it seems that Hardison found lifelong friends."

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There was no luck with lit rooms he crawled above, they were empty, and Eliot decided to end this shit as soon as he could. He tried to orientate, knowing pretty well where he was, but it was important to exit at some place where they could easily go to the ground level and continue the search like human beings and not worms.

"The vent is going up slightly," he said. "When passing the last three rooms, the vent followed the higher ceilings, I'm now more than five meters high. I think I'm near the middle hallway, probably with some huge staircase."

"I know where we are now. Just continue in that direction. I'm coming to you from the opposite side. We should meet in the middle and get out of the vent."

"And continue the search of the first floor normally, on foot and not on all fours?"

"You're whining just like Hardison."

"I'm not a thief, Parker. I don't do vent crawling.

"Oh."

"What?!"

"I'm above the huge room full of women," she whispered. "Half naked women! More than half naked!"

"What kind of half-naked, Parker? Bathroom kind of half-naked, too-hot-in-here half-naked, or-"

"Shhh!" she went silent for a few seconds, and he continued to go in her direction. At least he thought this was the right direction.

"Black leather, chains, lace and silk half-naked," she whispered finally. "We're in a brothel, Eliot."

"Well, that would explain night visitors. Stay there, I'll be there in a minute."

"They're young," she said. He could hear her mind quickly thinking. "They are way too young Eliot. I don't think they're here freely. They put them on the island, cut off of the land, they can't escape, they're slaves here, we have to-"

"Whoa, stop! There are no locks or bars on the windows, and everybody can swim to the shore from here. I don't think-"

"We have to set them free. I'm going to them."

"No. We're just doing recon, collecting info. We'll go to Nate with this, and he'll make a plan to-" He could hear the opening of the hatch and her quick movements, and he swore under his breath.

"But soon people will start coming with boats! No time for that!"

"Parker, _don't_-"

Too late. He heard a soft thump when she landed.

"Hi!" she chirped. "Be quiet. We are here to set you free."

He rolled his eyes and hurried.

He had a very, very bad feeling about this.

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Sophie was finishing with the files on the second computer, listening to Hardison's talk with the guards, when one of them, the most silent until now, cleared his throat. "What about male customers? Had any of those? Danced in front of men?"

"A few times," Hardison replied. "Never had problems with them, they were professional and polite. Why?"

Sophie suddenly had a very strange feeling that that question was a mistake. She suppressed a chuckle, knowing that Hardison would hear her, and listened more carefully.

"Well, I was thinking," the fourth guard said slowly. "You said you lost the pay, and that birthday must've started already so you'll be late anyway even if you find it… so why not perform your act here? I was thinking about inviting a male stripper to my husband's birthday with a few friends…I'd like to see what I should expect."

"C'mon, Gary," two voices whined. "And what about us? We don't want to watch a male stripper."

"You can patrol the marina," Gary said. "So, what say you? The game is boring, and we have time."

Sophie could almost see Hardison gulping, and that familiar tilt of his head with an empty face, a clear sign of frantic thinking.

"Sure, why not? You're right, that birthday is a bust, and I have time. Just let me see the last few minutes of the game, and then I'll go find my car. I left it somewhere up the shore while searching for the address, and I have my music and requisites in the back of it."

"Since you're doing so good with grifting, darling," Sophie purred in his ear, "maybe I should really try to hack and make their cameras record your performance."

She laughed at his choked sound, which he masked with cough, and went to attack the third computer.

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"Who are you?" unknown female voice answered Parker's words.

"FBI," she stated firmly. "We're here to get you out of here. Are you all in this salon, _next to the main staircase_, or are there more of you?"

Eliot didn't have to hear Parker's direction to know that the thief, too, noticed that the women didn't sound thrilled with the prospect of near freedom.

He couldn't be that far away.

"It will be wise to stay where you are, and not circle around me," she continued giving him info. Then her voice fell to a barely audible whisper. "Uhm, Eliot? Remember how you said you're not a thief? Well, I'm not a hitter, and I guess I'll have to fight-"

"No you won't, just stay away- don't let them corner you- " He finally found a hatch and smacked it away, looking down. He was right – he was above the huge, classy staircase that looked strangely familiar, with a rich red carpet covering the wooden stairs.

He jumped out, on the platform, quickly assessing the situation.

He could see Parker – the platform opened into a big salon through an arch, not a door.

He met Parker's eyes for a second, and nodded. She was cornered and surrounded by a bunch of _really_ half naked women, and he almost grinned. They were gorgeous. Fighting them – or better to say, fighting them off of Parker – could be interesting, if he managed to keep them at a distance for the sake of better visibility. They weren't armed.

A small old lady that was on the platform between him and them, turned with her back to him, was a problem that might ruin this experience. She was leaning on the arch, watching Parker and the girls. He was dressed in black, behind her, and he had no intention of causing a heart attack for, or even scaring, a tiny old woman.

He stopped after a few steps, checking down the stairs, just now remembering what the hell was so familiar – the staircase was similar to the one in _Gone With the Wind._

He cleared his throat, warmed and softened his voice as much as he could, and he purred, "Excuse me, Ma'am, may I have your attention for a moment?"

And her attention he had.

She turned around and now he saw what was in her hands – a shotgun, hidden with her dress. He smiled and took a few steps back, raising both of his hands in the air, radiating only charm, not a threat. "I'm sorry I scared you," he said gently. "I'm not a threat here, trust me."

She advanced several steps, the shotgun in her hands, her aim steady on him, until she was just a meter away. He hesitated; he could storm that meter, smack away the shotgun and take it from her, but he didn't know how to do it without hurting her. She looked so fragile, god dammit, so tiny and wrinkled, and…

Than he saw her eyes. Two sharp, keen eyes, not scared at all.

Too late for anything, except… "Parker, run-"

She pulled both triggers. His chest exploded.

No pain, surprisingly. Just a strange sound while he was falling, and falling, and falling down the staircase, nothing to stop his fall for ages.

The strange sound was Parker screaming, a desperate, terrified cry.

Something awful must've happened to make her scream, was his last thought before he landed into darkness._ Parker never screamed._

_._

_._

_._

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Five confused pairs of eyes looked at him when he dropped a bottle, when whiskey poured all over the table and cards, soaking the green fabric.

Parker never screamed, Nate thought slowly hoisting himself up.

"Nate!" her desperate cry echoed in his ear. "He's dead!"

Time stopped for a moment.

He just stood there, his gaze fixed on the table and the bottle that was still rolling, slower and slower, until it stopped.

"Are you sure?" he asked just that.

"Two shotgun shells in the chest, close range, less than one meter! I'm trying to get to him, but I can't pass through them, I-"

He turned around, still not looking at the players, and grabbed Colburn's hair. He smashed his head into the table, in the same move taking the gun from his holster.

Stupefied silence fell in the room.

He pointed the gun at Martin's head. "You stay. The rest of you, take Colburn and _leave_. _Now_."

They scrambled on their feet, no questions, no words, just grabbed the fallen Colburn and cleaned out. Martin's mouth was open. He sat slumped, in disbelief.

He tried to loosen his grasp on the gun he held. He failed.

"Motor boat?" Nate gritted out, and Martin nodded. "Move. Before me."

He pushed him with a gun in his back.

"Run and hide, Parker. We're coming to get you out."

He followed him out, down to marina.

The fog whirled around their feet.

.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

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It was just one minute from the hotel to the barrack with guards, on the docks.

"Nate, I'm out." Hardison's voice was clear, coming both through the earbud and near him. The hacker was around the corner of the barrack. "Told them I went to my car – I got Sophie and USBs and we're clearing out."

Now he could see them both, two darker shadows near the back windows.

"No need to hurry," he said. His voice was surprisingly normal.

They both turned around and froze, seeing him holding Martin in front of the gun. For a moment nobody said anything; they didn't know which stage of plan this was, and how much everything was compromised.

Hardison was first to speak. "Something going on?" he stated cautiously, forming the question neutrally.

Nate couldn't open his mouth. He tried, but no sound came out. One more surprising thing, because his mind was completely normal, working at its usual speed, going through all possibilities and outcomes at once. Nothing wrong with his thoughts. But he couldn't say _it_. Saying it would be confirmation; it would make it real.

He watched them. They were looking at him. Martin stood stiff as a stone.

Sophie was the first to move. She made one small step forward, not towards him, but nearer to Hardison, placing her hand on his arm. "Who's dead?" she whispered.

Not the first time she asked him that, but the first time he had replied instantly. Now he just took a deep breath. _No names; Martin was listening_.

"We've lost a Joker," he said finally.

It wasn't what he said, but _how_ he said it.

They had enough composure left not to say anything compromising, both noticing his choice of words. "We're going to the island. Martin has a motor boat. Move." He pushed Martin in front of himself, avoiding their glazed stares, passing by them. He could hear when they moved and followed them. They didn't exchange any words; they just silently walked after him.

He saw the guards through the window of the barrack – all four of them busy with removing the furniture and preparing the stage for Hardison's performance. Four good guys, in a good mood, friendly.

He stood next to Martin when they got aboard and when the engine started, to keep an eye on him. He wasn't a typical bad guy either, just a frightened and troubled man, dishonest but benign.

_How_ everything could go so completely wrong? Somehow he felt it would be easier if this had happened in some nasty trouble, some deadly shit; they would have been prepared for things going south. This was… unacceptable.

Sophie was standing while the boat quickly cut the fog. Her back was turned to both of them. She watched the other shore, hugging herself as if chilled. Hardison sat on the bow, his elbows on his knees, his hands going through his hair in a monotone, repeated move, over and over again.

Their silence was deafening.

It was in the moment when the boat touched the bank and Martin turned the engine off, when he heard the static again. It cleared in a few seconds, and an unknown voice gently said, "Would you like a nice, warm cup of tea, dear?"

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"Would you like a nice, warm cup of tea, dear?"

Being dead sucked big time. Being dead brought a headache.

That thought got him together; how the hell could he have headache when he just got killed with two shotgun shells in the chest?

Something wasn't quite right here.

Eliot opened his eyes to the smiling face of the old lady leaning over him. She really had a cup in his hands, and he blinked once, squinting. "The hell is this-"

"Watch your language, young man!"

What the fuck? He blinked once more, clearing his vision. He was at the bottom of the stairs, near the railing. He reached with his hand to the railing, trying to push himself up, when it hit him… an explosion of burning pain in his chest, abdomen, shoulders, _everywhere_. He moaned and fell back, and only his instincts stopped him from curling up.

Watery eyes blinked at him with warm compassion. "Nasty, isn't it?" The old lady turned away, leaving a cup on the floor. He was still trying to catch his breath – Jesus, it _burned_ – through gritted teeth when she returned with a huge green _watering can_. What the fuck…? He stared at her in disbelief. Without a word, she turned it over, pouring cold water over him in a soft drizzle.

He was too shocked to react, and between terrible dizziness and burning his thoughts didn't have a chance. But he _had to_ get it together, able or not.

_Assess the situation, disarm all threats, secure the perimeter, find Parker_.

A situation: his killer was watering him like a plant.

He left the assessing of the situation for some better time, and concentrated on _disarm all threats_. He couldn't see the shotgun anywhere near, but it wasn't so important now; if she didn't reload it, it was useless.

_Secure the perimeter_. _Right, on it. In a second_. When she moved away from him again, he gritted his teeth and again tried to hoist himself up; this time it went better. He was still disoriented, everything danced around him, and he had to lean on the railing to keep himself upright.

"S're you don't wan' that tea?" a gentle voice was back. He looked at the little lady that came to him with another watering can, almost too heavy for her lithe body. Her hands were occupied, and she had something between her teeth, a small paper box.

Okay, maybe he _was_ dead, he thought when she tilted the can, this time without a rose on it, and splashed the water on him again. No more soft drizzle this time. He looked down at his chest, and froze. His shirt and jacket were torn and ripped with dozens of bloody holes in them. _How_ wasn't he dead already?

Right at that moment, the main door swung open with a violent thrust, and Nate and Hardison burst into the lobby, followed by Adrian Martin. Okay, he could leave _find Parker_ to them. He stared at the mixture of shock and relief on their faces, unable to give any explanation. Burning was eating through his mind steadily, blurring everything.

The woman took the box out of her mouth. "Adrian, dear, you should've told me you would bring guests," she said with reprimanding tone in her voice.

"What have you done, mom?!" Martin cried desperately. His face took on a yellow hue when he looked at his chest, and Eliot turned his head to the woman. He really wanted to hear her answer, the only thing that would make sense in this confusing shit.

"There, there, no need to panic. I caught him trespassing – he's lucky I just shot him." She turned around and disappeared once again.

Nate and Hardison were both at his side now, grabbing him and taking him to sit on the stairs, Hardison pushing him down and tearing the ripped shirt. He let them. He couldn't think of anything better to do now.

"Can you breathe!? What do we have to do? What happened? Can you talk?!" Hardison's frantic questions added to the mess, and Eliot waved his hand to stop him. "What?"

"A headache," he stuttered. He slowly reached with his hand and felt the back of his head. Yep, he'd hit his head, hard, when he fell… he felt blood on his fingers.

The look on their faces would be priceless, and he would enjoy it immensely, if that damn witch hadn't returned and splashed him with a third wave.

Surprisingly, it did help…the burning subsided with every splash of cold water.

"Okay, enough!" Nate's voice cut through every sound like a knife, going painfully through his head, but that did it – everybody froze, even Hardison. "What the hell is going on in here?!"

Before anybody could open their mouth, a soft cling above their heads made them all look up. Parker's head, hanging upside down, emerged from the wooden beam, followed by half of her body, with the shotgun in her hands. She slid along the railway and she was down there in seconds.

She waved the shotgun at Nate, and he snatched it. "She _did_ shoot him," she said. "But those weren't bullets."

"What?" Nate observed a gun.

"Of course that weren't real bullets." The old lady frowned. "I don't kill raccoons, I just chase them away. The shells are filled with a rock salt, huge grains. At twenty meters it just smacks them and scares them away."

"At twenty meters, yes," Nate said coldly. "You fired at him at arm's reach! You could've killed him!"

"Hardly. The hit is stronger, and it did throw him back, yes, but the grains only penetrated the skin, not going too deep. It will burn for some time, and that's all." She took the paper box she'd left on the table and opened it, taking a bunch of band aids out of it. "More water will clean the salt, the deepest grains can be taken out with tweezers, and the burning will soon stop.

Just then Eliot remembered someone was missing. "Where's Sss…" he stopped on time.

"Will be here in a minute, she's limping," Nate said, looking around.

Great, they were all here now. And what now?

For one long second everybody watched Nate. They were disposed, compromised, the job was ruined, their identities revealed in front of the mark, and Nate had a fucking gun in his hand…

He just sighed and closed his eyes. They would need a fucking miracle to walk away from this.

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Nate knew Eliot was fine when he looked up the stairway, to the platform above them, and when a grin flew over his face. He followed his eyes; a bunch of gorgeous, half naked women were piling on the railings, looking down with a mix of whispers and giggles.

Sophie arrived in the moment they started to climb down. That was great – they needed, desperately needed _more_ people to add to this fuck up.

Sophie made one unintelligible sound and flew to Eliot, but she was stopped two steps away from him by a nasty glare. _No hugging_. Nate smirked and withdrew a couple of steps away from everybody, into the background.

The large foyer had three sets of small tables and chairs, probably for waiting customers, and that reminded him that they only had ten minutes before the first of them started to arrive.

Martin was slumped in one chair. No gun threat, no unknown people in his sister's house, nothing could penetrate an aura of resignation around him. He should be panicking by now, but no. He just sat there, with his legs outstretched in front of him, staring blindly into the staircase.

The old lady – his mother – was busy going in and out, bringing more water and more cups. When he saw her starting to give orders to the nearest girls, the bravest, who were almost down the stairs, Nate knew he had to stop this before she brought sandwiches.

"Eliot, why don't you let those girls to take care of your wounds?"

"Wh-?!" The hitter flinched with indignation; that was unheard of. He took care of himself, always.

But Nate continued, ignoring the accusing stare, "They have nothing to do now, and that will keep them occupied." _Keep the enemies herded and away while I deal with Martin_. Eliot caught the message, but a grimace on his face clearly said what he thought about that.

"That's a great idea. Come with me." The old lady led the way to the other end of the foyer, to a table and chairs similar to these, and the herd followed her. Nate studied Eliot's steps – yep, that was a concussion – but the hitter managed to hide it from everybody. Maybe not Parker, though; her eyes were sharp and narrowed while she watched him. There would be a lot of poking later.

After the initial shock passed, both Hardison and Sophie became aware of the situation. The hacker came to him. Sophie stayed by the stairs, watching Martin and reading his posture.

"What did you tell him?" Hardison asked lowly, only for his ears, glancing at Martin. "State police? Interpol? FBI?"

"Nothing yet."

Parker was near them in a second. "I told the girls I'm with the FBI. Can you still save them?"

"From what, Parker?" Nate motioned with his head to the herd… relaxed, gathering around Eliot and still giggling. "They aren't being held here."

Martin still paid no attention to them.

"Stay here," Nate whispered to the hacker and the thief, and went to the herd.

"Mrs. Martin, you're aware that you have an illegal brothel?" he stated firmly, with his most official tone.

She just smiled at him. "Girls…" she said gently.

"We're the Webster Crochet Club for Cheerleaders," five of them sang together. "We live here and we master our crocheting skills." All of them shot him dazzling smiles.

"You've gotta be kidding me-"

"These girls are safe here," she said. "They have no jobs, no future, no education and their families are estranged. They can _crochet_ here, or on the streets. Here, they can stick together and form a bond, help each other, without any danger for them. I don't know any crocheting club that provides medical care, gives shelter, and give its attendees all the money they gain by selling their artwork. Do you know any?" Her eyes grew sharper with every word she said. "If you do, please do share, we'd like to exchange our experiences. But if you don't, just walk away and don't turn back." She looked at the girls and the sharpness faded, a smile returning in her eyes. She pulled him by his sleeve, taking him away from the group.

He followed, just turning around to check on Eliot. One beautiful redhead was leaning over him, tapping his shoulder with gauze, but he looked past her, to the two shorthaired blondes that were quietly talking to each other. Those two were almost fully dressed. Nate sighed. At least he would be patched up.

Mrs. Martin stopped him when they had moved enough so the girls couldn't hear them. "They wouldn't survive on their own, and you know it."

"No, I don't know it, and you don't know it either. Crocheting on an island isn't a way of life for any human being, and I don't think it's their choice."

"It isn't. It's a necessity. Have you been in Webster, ever? Have you seen any advertisement for jobs? There's a waiting line for McDonalds; people wait for years to work there. Don't preach – this isn't their choice. They are trying to survive. And no plot or conspiracy my son and you can cook up will change my mind and stop me helping them. We have three babies in the right wing. They've made a life here. Don't try to ruin that."

She didn't think they were police, or any sort of law enforcement. Interesting. More interesting than that, she thought Martin had set this fiasco together with them.

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

She observed him once more, very thoroughly, then she returned to the girls. Crocheting Club, damn. He could bet she had all her papers in order.

He returned to Martin and sat in the chair beside him, stretching his legs the same way he did.

"So," he started. "Your sister provides medical care? Do you have a cook for this little club, or do they do it by themselves?"

Martin raised his head and tilted it a little to look at him. Nate returned his stare without a smile.

The man had been snatched with a gun from his game, by a man who obviously wasn't a poker player, who had a gang of intruders on his property… and he didn't say anything. Didn't _ask_ anything, not even if they were police or something like that. He just watched him with a desperation that seemed so deep that he had no strength even to protest. He didn't care. No, worse than that. He was so low now that he simply gave up.

And Nate knew what to do.

He rested his elbows on the armrests and tented his fingers. "Let me tell you a story about the man who was one step from public humiliation and losing his job and everything he had," he said calmly. Martin just blinked; a slow, tired move. "And who solved all his problems in five minutes, with unexpected help." Not even that brought any life to his eyes.

"You rejected Chief Vickers' claim for tribe recognition because you couldn't allow them to build a casino on this island. Because that would ruin your mother – no matter how crazy and delusional she seems, she cares. And you care for her. And you have no means to stop her in her crazy crusade. You've tried everything already, right?"

"Every damn thing." His voice was just a whisper. "I begged, I threatened, I blackmailed, I begged some more… and nothing. My only hope…" He stopped, swallowed as if gaining strength. "…my only hope is to keep everything here hidden, and pray that those, those… men, who come here, have a sense of discretion. But every day, I'm waiting for the police to bust in… they would take her away in cuffs. I can't, I just can't… there's nothing I can do anymore."

"Except one thing." Nate now smiled. "Except bringing an entire tribe here, with their casino, and _forcing_ her to close her crocheting club."

"What?"

"You looked at them as a threat… you should've seen them as a perfect help for your cause."

"That's insane."

Nate pulled out his phone. "How many girls are here?"

"Fourteen," Martin whispered. "Why?"

"Excellent." He typed on the phone for a minute, and sent a message. He could do it faster, but Martin needed that minute to think. His eyes weren't so dull now.

"We were here to investigate your decision for the US Bureau of Indian Affairs. I don't think you need an explanation of our results." He waved his hand in a general direction over the foyer. "It's over. You're ruined and compromised. Everything you feared just happened."

Martin glanced to the group at the other end, and took out his pills, swallowing two without water.

"Mrs. Martin, would you join us for a minute?" Nate called. He let her take his seat and stood in front of them both.

"Mrs. Martin, I'm not working with your son. I'm here to investigate his work and put him in jail for a conflict of interest. The Nipmuc tribe will probably sue him and take everything he has. Your Crochet Club is going down, too. Both you and the girls will be arrested. You'll do your time in jail, but they won't – they will be simply charged with fines and thrown on the street. You're ruined."

Oh, he had their attention now.

"However, I'm not law enforcement. We work in a different field. I am in a position to choose my action, to choose justice before order. I can save you both."

"How?" Martin said. His mother was silent, her eyes fixed on him.

"By sacrificing the Crochet Club."

"Out of the question!" she spat.

The soft ping of an incoming message stopped her. Nate checked the message and kept the phone in his hand.

"Martin, in three days, you will approve Chief Vickers' appeal, and make sure all their demands are fulfilled. There will be no charges against you. Mrs. Martin, you will clean the mansion of every trace of illegal activities, and you'll tell your customers that you're out of business. There will be no charges for you, either, if you _stop_. Now."

"I won't pay for my freedom with their lives. The girls will have to go to the streets, to violence, and drugs and danger."

"And what would make you change your mind?" Nate smiled, slowly. "Just for a moment, let us imagine a surreal scenario, in a happy-ending land far, far away… what would you do if your girls don't have to sell their bodies for a living? If by some unknown miracle they are allowed to stay here, if you want them to, but they were normal young women with jobs, with the possibility for an education and a better life? Would you agree then to close this place?"

"Of course I would – they're saving every dime to make that happen in the future – but that's impossible."

"That's how this is going to be, Mrs. Martin." He opened the message and showed her the reply he got. _'I can do that, no problem.'_ "I asked for payment from my client. He agreed to pay me with fourteen jobs in the future casino, here on the island. The only things that remain between those girls and their good future are you and your son. He has to make the right decision. You have to close this thing down. Can you do it?"

"I can," Martin breathed. "I will."

She said nothing, her sharp eyes not melting a bit. "Why?" she asked. "What's in this for you?"

He thought a few seconds. It was a tough question. "A happy ending," he said with a smile. "We provide… happy endings."

.

.

.

.

"Now you know how it feels to be watered. That will add much needed understanding in your relationship with Geor-"

"Shut up, Hardison."

"And you crawled through the vents. The next thing you'll do will be rope-sliding with me. Do you know you're the only one of us who still hasn't, even once, gone down the rop-"

"Shut up, Parker."

Sophie laughed at the voices from the back of the van, and Nate grinned, watching the trio in the rear mirror. Eliot was sulking at full speed. Soaking wet, with a headache and probably still full of salt – and that was an experience Nate was sure he didn't want to try, ever – and pissed off to the insanity level. Hardison and Parker, of course, paid no attention to all that; they mercilessly continued to poke at him, the thing closest to cooing that he had ever seen.

Sophie still laughed; but the grifter held his hand while he drove exactly nine times longer than she usually did after successful jobs.

She turned her head to peek at him. "I hacked – okay, almost hacked – Hardison grifted, Parker almost fought, and Eliot was as close to being a thief as he would ever, ever, allow himself again," she said, the stars still in her eyes. "What have _you_ done?"

For a change, he did nothing, except worrying. And then panicking. "I shuffled a deck," he said with a grin. "I got a winning hand. Exceptional cards, every one of them."

"Ah? No cheating this time?"

"Yep, no cheating needed," he glanced at the back again; Parker and Hardison were betting whether she, with her eyes covered, could hit a hole on Eliot with her finger, or not. "Because we learned to play the hand we're dealt."

He took The Ace of Spades from his pocket and threw it out through the window.

Lucille turned left, leaving the Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg Lake behind their back, heading for Boston. For home.

.


End file.
